Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances

by Marissa Dobson

  West tightened his lips, folding them like he did when he was struggling to contain his temper. "It's true then," he said. "I sent you into Iraq to close down a notorious brothel and instead you decided to fuck the madam?"

  Dec had to force his arms to remain at his sides so he wouldn't bash in the lieutenant's face. "It wasn't like that. Sir."

  West leaned closer to glare into his face. "What was it like?"

  "She's not the madam." But Dec knew she'd put him—no, he'd put himself—in a situation where no defense was possible.

  "You know you're looking at a court-martial?" West was close enough now that Dec could smell his morning coffee.

  "On what grounds? Sir."

  "Oh, I don't know," he spat out. "Fraternizing with the enemy? Conduct unbecoming? Dereliction of duty? Take your pick?"

  "I believe that these females are our best lead on Behaid," Dec said stubbornly. He couldn't think about what this whole fiasco might have done to his Navy career. That problem would still be waiting for him once he'd rescued Laila and the girls. "I would return to them for that reason alone. But I'll admit I also have a personal interest here."

  The lieutenant stared at him with frosty eyes. "Would you go after them even if I forbid it?"

  Dec hesitated for a long moment, but his answer was in that hesitation. "I would hate for it to come to that, Sir. I believe in the chain of command. But I need to get the monster who does this to defenseless women. I believe that Behaid will be looking for the females we left behind at the whorehouse."

  Dec swallowed hard. He could be facing a court-martial with his next words. "Again," he said, "I request permission to complete my mission by returning to the brothel."

  "Given the trouble you have with your dick, you are the last person I want to send back there," West snapped, "but I don't have any choice. Go get that goddamn Behaid and don't show your face to me again without him."

  They all had to ride back to Sinjar in the truck, the girls and SEALs squeezed together. Dec agonized over the delay. Every second that ticked by ran out like blood from a sucking wound, precious losses that could cause tragedy.

  But they unloaded quickly, and West said to Dec, "I'll organize these girls. Get the hell out of here."

  Dec, Greg and Harp scrambled back into the pickup and turned around. It was midmorning by now, another hot, sunny day brewing. But they didn't see any people until they reached the brothel.

  A bundle of rags was crawling down the road, in the direction away from Sinjar.

  Dec slowed the truck, trying to ignore the dread that was creeping up his spine. The rags stopped moving, and a head was turned back to them.

  Shit. It was Saed.

  Panic clawed Dec with cold fingers. Why was the man out in the road, injured? Where was his granddaughter? Where were Laila and her sister?

  A crushing sense of defeat enveloped Dec. He knew he had to shrug it off. He wouldn't find Laila by blaming himself or wallowing in dismay.

  He slammed on the brakes and burst out of the car. Harp ran up beside him.

  The first thing Dec saw was the bright red blood staining the front of Saed's ragged clothes. Greg had already run back to the get his first aid kit so Dec knelt in the road. He gestured to the wound, trying to ask for permission to check it.

  Saed was wagging his head back and forth and pointing to the truck. "Baaj," he said. "Baaj."

  That was the town further down the road. ISIS territory. Dec's blood chilled further. Had the girls been brought there? How would he ever find them?

  If he wasn't mistaken, this man was moments from death. His long gray beard swept the dusty ground as he sat there, crab-like. His face was contorted with pain, and his gaze unfocused, as if he were in shock. He clutched one hand to his stomach, and blood seeped around it.

  Greg rushed up and dropped down by the man. He murmured a few words in Arabic as he gently pushed aside the rags.

  Dec raced for the back of the house, blasting through the shed door which hung drunkenly on its hinges.

  The shed was empty.

  Desperately, he ran to the other building. It was also empty. He glanced at the house. Should he check? Or should he try to get information from Saed? Of course, there was only one answer. If there were fighters in the house, he needed at least the backup from Greg and Harp to make any attempt to assault it.

  He raced back to his teammates.

  Greg didn't look up from his work patching up the wound as best he could. "Gut shot," he said, confirming Dec's guess. It was a death sentence, as the person who'd shot him had cruelly intended. Not a merciful death, but a slow one. All they could do now was try to make him more comfortable.

  Dec pulled out a water bottle from one of the many pockets in his vest. He unscrewed the cap and held out the bottle. The man looked at it with longing, but his hand had fallen back down to the ground.

  He was too weak. Dec held the bottle to the man's lips. He drank deeply, but did not drain the bottle.

  He looked at Dec from under his thick gray eyebrows. "Thank," he managed.

  "You're welcome. We have plenty." Dec held the bottle up again. After a moment's hesitation, the man drank again.

  "He wants to leave," Greg said. "Something about a granddaughter."

  "Ask him what happened to the girls." Dec wanted to shout out his agony, but it wasn't Saed's fault that Dec's gamble hadn't paid off.

  Saed began speaking, growing more and more agitated.

  "The terrorists have Laila and the girls," Greg said, cursing under his breath. "A man with a patch over his right eye came and took them."

  Dec had to swallow his vomit.

  "After they shot Saed," Greg continued, "they knew he would die so they thought he was useless. He listened."

  Greg's eyes flicked to Dec. "He says he'll trade information for our help. He begs us to save his granddaughter."

  Dec could only stare at the gasping man. On his deathbed, he'd negotiate?

  As he spoke, Greg was bandaging the wound. It wasn't a cure, but it might give Saed the time to say goodbye to his granddaughter.

  Dec squatted down on the road and looked into Saed's lined face. He clasped the gnarled hand. "I will do my best."

  The old man stared into his eyes for a long moment. "It is enough," he said in English. He held out a bloody hand that was clawlike, curved in on itself. "We go now," he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  "We're going to hide in plain sight," Dec said when they reached the dusty town of Baaj. "We need to find them quickly." He knew what would happen at nightfall. Laila and the girls could be being raped right now, but he preferred to think the jihadis would wait until nighttime. In either case, a sense of urgency propelled him forward with every second that passed. They couldn't wait. Usually, SEALs were careful planners, oftentimes even rehearsing a mission thoroughly. But sometimes, circumstances overtook you and a quick strike was better than the best laid plan.

  This was one of those times. He knew it.

  Saed had told them the terrorists were going to Baaj with their captives. Fortunately, it was a small town. Unfortunately, they hadn't given out an address in their conversation. They had mentioned a butcher shop, and that was the only clue Dec had to go on.

  The battered pickup he was driving was ubiquitous in Iraq, and he silently thanked the lieutenant. It had no identifying marks, and could belong to any faction. It was perfect for their use, aside from its lack of any comfort.

  They'd driven slowly through the town, which consisted mainly of beat up stores and homes. They'd seen no clue to what they were looking for, and they couldn't ask, because they'd be immediately spotted as outsiders. Baaj was a known ISIS haven.

  Finally, Dec parked the truck on a back road close to the butcher shop and announced that they'd have to patrol on foot. Saed couldn't walk, and he refused to be left behind, announcing that he was perfectly capable of crawling. They'd come up with the idea of carrying him on an improvised litter. They would draw som
e attention, but an injured person wasn't as unusual in Iraq as it would be on Fifth Avenue. Saed would lend them the veneer of reality. American men simply wouldn't be expected to be carting an old local man around.

  They walked a block down a secondary road that was parallel to the street the butcher shop was on. Dec didn't want to be too visible until they had to be. The street was quiet. In the distance they could hear children playing. A few old cars and trucks rumbled by on the cross streets.

  They turned into an alley which would allow them to pass directly behind the butcher shop. Almost immediately, Dec heard something that made him stop suddenly. He yanked off his helmet. A thread of song had reached his ears. Or was it his imagination? He could have sworn he heard a few bars of "Edelweiss", cut off abruptly, as if turned off by a switch. Or a blow. The thought sickened him.

  He forced himself to keep walking, but Greg moved closer and said, "What's up?"

  Like Greg, Dec had to speak in little more than a whisper. They couldn't be heard speaking English.

  "I thought I heard a song that Laila knows."

  "You mean "Edelweiss"?" Greg asked. "I've heard her humming it out on the trail."

  "Jesus, Geek, is there anything you didn't notice?"

  Geek exchanged a glance with his teammate. " You two weren't exactly subtle."

  Dec grunted. "Whatever. Did you hear the tune just now?"

  "No. Not a note."

  "Did you hear any song?"

  "Nope."

  "I want to stop anyway, and check things out." Dec couldn't let it go. The tune reverberated in his head, faintly, but insistently. He looked at the one-story building. They were at the back, and there were no windows. There was a door in front of them.

  "Go see what's on the front side of this building," Dec said to Harp and Harp ghosted away.

  He returned in less than a minute. "This is the back of the butcher shop."

  Dec felt a flicker of satisfaction. Just as he'd thought. He eyed the door. With no windows, they'd either have to go in through the door, or there might be access through the butcher shop. But that would involve others. He wished he had a bit more confirmation that this was the right building before they went in.

  "Edelweiss" drifted through the air. Just a few notes before, again, the tune was cut off abruptly.

  "I heard that," Geek said.

  Dec nodded. "We're going in."

  "I go in," Saed wheezed.

  "No." Dec was quick to cut off that idea. The poor guy would be helpless.

  "Yes," Saed insisted.

  Dec wanted to give him a reason to back down. "Why will they tell you anything?"

  Saed switched to Arabic and Greg translated.

  "He says if his granddaughter is there, they will be happy to tell him. They're cruel that way."

  Dec couldn't argue with that logic.

  "He says," Greg continued, "he's already a dead man. He wants to see his granddaughter one last time."

  Harp walked back from where he'd tried the door. "Locked. Nothing special, but it would make noise and draw attention to get it open."

  Saed started crawling. "Okay," Dec said. "Let's see if Saed can get them to the open the door. I'll be first in after him. Greg, you get Saed out of the way ASAP once the door is open. If possible, let's all use knives until we see the girls so we don't give anyone a warning."

  Greg scooped up Saed, carried him to the door, and helped him stand. The three SEALs pressed themselves against the back wall so they couldn't be seen unless someone actually emerged from the building. In which case, he'd be a dead man.

  Saed leaned on his cane, and Dec expected him to keel over any second. He had amazing fortitude and determination. His knock went unanswered. He knocked again. The door was opened an inch. A jihadi with a thick black scarf covering most of his face could be seen in the opening. He said something, Saed answered, and the door started to close.

  Saed fell across the threshold. Dec was on him like a shadow, throwing himself into the house and bringing down the jihadi. Greg and Harpo followed as closely as an ill wind.

  There was only the one man in the kitchen, and his throat was slit before he ever knew what happened. Blood flowed onto his thick black scarf as Dec stood silently, waiting to see if anyone had noticed the intrusion. The murmur of men's voices, and a coarse laugh, reached them from an adjacent room.

  Laila sat on a cushion on the floor of the small stone house where she, Alyssa and Aveen had been brought after they were captured in the old shed. She knew she was several kilometers from the shed, but she didn't know the town they were in, and her questions were met with angry orders to be quiet. Alyssa was on her lap, and Aveen pressed up against her side. Both girls had been utterly silent since their capture.

  "I get the young one," the ringleader was saying. His name was Behaid. She could never forget him. The patch on his eye, which didn't even cover the red scar on his cheek, had horrified her when she was his prisoner in the tent. The deformities were a physical reminder of the cruelties of his profession.

  Plus, she hadn't noticed in the tent, but now she could see he was missing a finger, the pinkie on his right hand. Laila shuddered. The stump was a pale scar, not new. He must have been fighting for a long time.

  Laila could only hope the girls didn't understand the Arabic being bandied about by their three captors. A fourth man was out in the kitchen, presumably standing guard. Almost unconsciously, she began humming. Perhaps she could drown out the horrible words from the girls' ears.

  "Shut up!" Behaid backhanded her across the mouth, cutting off the tune like a knife slicing an artery.

  "The one who was in the whorehouse is looking pretty beat up," one of the men said, as if he hadn't even noticed the violence. His head seemed to be covered in curly black hair, and he had a dirty looking bandage on his arm covered in what looked like dried blood. "I'll take the older one first. Maybe she knows a few tricks."

  He stared at Laila, and she tried to pretend she didn't notice. What would she do when these men finally began raping? She had to come up with a plan. Dec wouldn't have any idea what had happened to them when he returned to the shed. If he returned, a little voice in her head whispered insistently. He was on duty. He couldn't go chasing around after her. She knew that. But still, she couldn't abandon the one hope, because what else did she have? No one else even knew she was in Iraq.

  Behaid laughed. "You're fucking beat up yourself, Ahmed. Let's see who Cutthroat wants."

  Both men looked at the third guy, the one who made Laila's skin crawl the most. He had a gray mustache that framed a cruel mouth. His straggly beard was dark, mixed with gray. She couldn't think about what he might make them do.

  "I don't mind fucking the sick one," he said, smiling slyly. "At least not for the first go-around."

  Laila heard his words with horror. How many times would they each want a turn? And could she physically do what she knew she had to do? Or would it literally kill her?

  "That's settled then," Behaid said, sucking on his cigarette like it was giving him life, rather than taking it. Laila could only wish the cigarette would work faster, but she knew their salvation would not come from that direction.

  "What's your name, slave?" Behaid pointed his cigarette at Aveen. She stared at him, her eyes as round as saucers, her mouth trembling.

  "Can't talk," Ahmed said. "That's what they told us when they brought her to the whorehouse."

  "She'll fucking talk to me." Behaid rose to his feet, the hand with the cigarette outstretched. His intention was too clear.

  Laila spoke up. "Her name is Aveen. She's just a child."

  "Just a child." Behaid looked over at Laila and laughed. "A child is just what I want." He brandished the cigarette. "Speak, girl. Are you a virgin?"

  "Y—y—yes."

  "Good," Behaid boomed. "Just for that, I won't burn you today. Don't want to mar your perfection yet." He laughed at his own lame joke, and then the other two men forced out laughs.

/>   "She's not old enough," Laila said, "for relations with men. And this girl—" She indicated Alyssa "—has been badly damaged. She must be allowed to heal."

  Behaid turned his head to look at her, a look of incredulity on his face. "Are you speaking out of turn, whore?"

  Laila swallowed the bile in her mouth. She had to say it. "I had an idea, iman." It almost killed her to give him the honorific, but she knew she'd do worse before the day was done. "I—I thought that I could service all of you, so you wouldn't have to bother the children. I—I'll make it—" For a moment, she didn't think she could go on. But she had to. "I'll make it worthwhile for you."

  Behaid and Cutthroat burst out laughing. "You will service all of us anyway. And so will these two. Now shut up."

  Almost desperately, a few notes of "Edelweiss" hummed in her throat. She heard them with horror. It was all she could think of, but who did she think was going to hear her?

  "Are you crazy?" Behaid lunged toward her again and hit her with even more power this time. She saw stars and tasted blood.

  "Don't mess her up too much," Ahmed said with a laugh. "I'm planning to use that mouth."

  The door from the kitchen burst open.

  A man rushed to the right, where Laila and the two girls were sprawled. Two men went left, spraying the room with gunfire. Laila fell on the girls deliberately. Her greatest fear swamped her. They were going to die in a hail of violence.

  Just before she went down, she saw Cutthroat grab a gun and aim it, not at the men crowding the room, but directly at the girls. Laila tried to brace herself for pain, even as she spread her arms in a futile attempt to protect the girls. A man landed on top of her.

  It was all over in less than two minutes.

  Laila was afraid to breathe, even though it seemed like she was still able to do so. The room smelled horribly, and for some reason, that made her feel sick. She tried to think about where she might have been hit, but she couldn't feel any new pain. The sound of the gunfire reverberated in her ears, and she thought it might have deafened all of them.

  She couldn't hear anything from Alyssa or Aveen, but the man who'd jumped on top of them was getting to his feet. She didn't know if she had the courage to open her eyes.